


Flee

by NightmareLane



Category: Homestuck
Genre: And beats the holy crap out of him in others, Blood, Blood As Paint, Blood Kink, Chucklevoodoo, Gamzee Is Sober, Gore, In which Gamzee cares a little too much about Karkat sometimes, Insanity, Lots of torture, M/M, Marked For Later Chapters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sober Gamzee Makara, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Yeah this went hellsa downhill hellsa fast, sober!Gamzee
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:47:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightmareLane/pseuds/NightmareLane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your name is Karkat Vantas and it's getting difficult to hold on to your sanity with these severed heads all over the place. Oh, Gamzee's also trying to get into your pants and you'd really appreciate it if he'd quit trying to murder you, thanks.</p><p>[On Hiatus- Rewriting the later chapters & possibly the current ones]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written as an English assignment, the prompt was to write a short piece based off of a picture, and I was told to post it! And now I'm being told to make a part 2. Which, knowing me, will end up with a part 3 and 4 and 27 and 82.... Yeah.
> 
> Next chapters will be much, much better, I promise. I just had to keep this one "school appropriate" and such, so I couldn't do what I wanted to do with it. It's literally shit. Please pardon the crappiness of this.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for clicking this fanfic and I hope you enjoy! It's entirely unbeta'd and so I'd appreciate any constructive criticism you can offer. I also give cookies to people that leave comments -eyebrow wiggle-

Your name is Karkat Vantas. You are terrified.

Your best friend, no, your palemate, is sober. All you have to do is keep him sane. After all, that’s what palemates do, right? Moirails keep each other grounded.

And look, you can’t even manage that. Nice going, Vantas.

Now that clown is after you. You had seen the bodies, your friends, dead. Every last one.

You should have known. He had been twitchier than usual lately, but you just papped him a little and kept on with your work.

You were about to chastise yourself once more, but something caught your eye. A small “:o)” written on the wall, with what looked to be brown blood. Tavros’ blood. You gasp and stare with wide eyes, barely able to comprehend the words next to the face.

"ARE YOU NEXT?"

You tremble and, in that moment, realize he knows where you are. He always had known. He’s coming and you can do nothing about it. You faintly hear “honk HONK honk HONK”s in the distance, steadily coming closer. You gulp and turn, painstakingly slow. There he is.

In the back of your mind, you realize he really doesn’t look all that different. His pain is smeared, sure, and there are three deep gashes bleeding indigo, but really, he looks the same. Like he always has.

He stops in front of you and stops his honking. In a raspy voice, he speaks.

"Hey there, Karbro."

You know now, with utmost certainty, you can’t fight him. You care too much about him. So you sigh and stuff your hands into your pockets, oddly calm and okay with your fate. You take a careful breath, look into his eyes, and give him a wry smile.

"Hello, Gamzee. I've missed you."


	2. Chapter 2

Gamzee blinks in surprise.

"You all up an' missed me, little motherfucker?"

"Yeah, I did." You stall. Perhaps there is a slight chance you can get away. Think, Karkat, think!"

"Huh. Here I thought you'd hate me. After all, I did kill everyone else." He gives you a broken grin. "Used their miraculous colours for transcribing the righteous motherfucking messages of the high messiahs.." He gestures to the message behind you. "Hell, I up an' _enjoyed_ killing them. Why are you not hating?"

You sigh, formulating a plan. A flawed plan, but a plan nonetheless. "It's a lot more complicated than you're trying to make it, assclown. I know what you're like when you haven taken acrobatic pirouettes off the fucking handle into the flat cooking device of insanity. I know you're in there, Makara, and I can't justify bringing harm to you when I know you aren't entirely evil. Sure, you're completely fucked-up all the time, but really?" You step back "I mean, sure, I despise the things you've done with a hate that transcends the understanding nodules in most troll's thinkpans. On the other hand, I know if you realized exactly what you're doing, you'd hate yourself more than even I, in my hate-filled existence, could ever manage. I can't regret it for you; you've gotta do that shit on your own."

You take a deep breath, as though you are about to continue ranting, and instead turn and run before he can stop you. Left, right, left, right. Run, run, run. Don't look back. A whimper escapes you and you stumble. No, keep running, go, go, go.

You can hear him cursing behind you, the stubborn clown. You gasp for air and struggle onward, careening around a corner and nearly slamming into the wall. You skid and spit out a curse of your own when you feel your ankle wrench unnaturally to the side. You snarl and take another step.

A scream of agony tears itself from your throat. Your vision leaves you for a moment and you crumple to the ground, gripping your twisted ankle and shaking with adrenaline and pain. You can hear Gamzee's unsteady footsteps draw closer, closer.

Slowly, you dare to look up. He looms over you, looking down at you with a face devoid of emotion.

"You're gonna regret that, punchline-blooded motherfucker."

You scramble back on your hands and knees, a crude imitation of a crabwalk. You grit your teeth against the pain. He steps forward and plants a foot to your chest. He shoves to the ground and straddles you as you gasp for air. You struggle and push him. He grabs your wrist and you realize, with a sinking feeling, that going against him was a bad idea.

He grips your wrist tighter. You cry out and your bones shatter.

He laughs maliciously. "There you go. Scream, Karbro. Pour that mirthful sound out of your squawkblister."

And you do. You scream and scream as he takes your other hand, expecting him to shatter it and hoping that by doing as he asks he'll make this a little less painful. Gamzee caresses your hand patiently until you begin to quiet. Your whimpers die down and he trails his other hand lightly along your cheek. Painted lips press against your palm gently. You feel yourself relax a little. It must be over.

Without warning, Gamzee grasps your elbow and brings your forearm down over his knee. It snaps and you think you see bone shards sticking out of your arm, candy red mutant blood flowing around it. The shock and pain take a moment to register. You finally remember to shriek when he drops your arm, letting it lie by your side. Tears flow from your eyes and he smiles gently at you. You see juggling pins from his strife specibus in his hands.

"G-Gamzee, don't do this." You sob, unable to control yourself. All that time hiding your mutation and here it is, pouring out of your arm in some sick fuck's guro-fetish, revealed by- of all trolls- your _moirail._ "Don't do this, Gamzee, we're supposed to be best friends, we- we're supposed to be pale for each other, palemates don't do this...!"

"Oh, my righteous brother." Gamzee kisses away your tears. "We're only just getting started."

Slowly, he raises one pin. It comes down so quickly it is a blur, you can hear it whistling through the air just before impact. You feel a rib crack and you yell, you beg for it to end. The second pin comes down right where the first was and the rib splinters. You can hear the bone snap.

You wail, back arching, just before the world goes black.


	3. Chapter 3

You groan. Everything hurts, it's hard to breathe. You cough and slowly open your eyes. You hiss. It feels bright, but the room is dim. You are heavy and tired and achy....

"Morning, Karbro."

A gasp escapes and you try to move away from his voice. A cool hand presses against your shoulder, keeping you still on that human recuperacoon.

"Shoosh, brother. Abide, you'll hurt yourself even more. Gotta rest, relax. I got all them bones back where they should be, ain't wanting them moving around none."

Your eyes travel up his arm and you stare at Gamzee, fear filling you. Words escape before you can hold them back.

"Please don't hurt me."

He smiles gently at you, thumbs rubbing your collarbone. He slowly massages the tension from your neck and shoulders. You go limp, confused as to why he's suddenly being so kind and caring.

"My little miracle...." Gamzee murmurs. "I ain't gonna hurt you none. Gotta keep me that pretty color your pumpbiscuit pushes through your veins. Don't know why I never seen it before. You got all the miracles hidin' in ya." He trails a single slender finger down a vein in your neck and you shiver. "How come you never up and told me about it?"

The clown bends down and scrapes his fangs over your throat. You whimper and try to compose yourself before you answer.

"I-I'd get culled if anyone knew.... It's no miracle, it's a mutation, it m-makes me a freak." You dare to say. His grip on your shoulder tightens, the bone creaks. You know it is going to bruise. He snarls.

"You ain't a freak, don't say that. You are a miracle and that is final. I wouldn't let no motherfucker lay a finger on you. Ain't no one but me gonna be touchin' ya now."

That though terrifies you more than anything ever has in your life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whee short lil chapter is short. Just a bit of a filler, if you will. Planning a better chapter, hopefully will be up tomorrow?? In case it wasn't very clear, after Karkles blacked out, Gamzee took him to his old respiteblock and patched him up, set the bones and bandaged the wounds and such. As always, feedback is wonderful!!


	4. Chapter 4

He keeps you there.

He keeps you in that room, on that human recuperacoon. You aren't complaining. You are comfortable and he is not hurting you.

He asks you if your broken bones hurt. You nod and he leaves the room, only to return with a pie pan full of slime. He assures you it isn't baked, he got it fresh.

You don't say anything.

He tells you to remove your sweater. You comply, though he has to help you. Your arms send stabs of pain coursing through you at each movement. You whimper and he shooshes you, has the _nerve_ to pap your face and tell you it's okay.

He starts at your twisted ankle, rubbing sopor into it. You can't help but sigh in relief. You had forgotten how good it felt to be pain-free.

A smile is directed at you as he gingerly takes your broken wrist and removes the bandages. You sit in silence as he works in the sopor. It just feels so damn nice to not feel. You let your eyes close and he wraps a clean bandage around your wrist.

Gamzee takes your other arm and you tense up.

"Relax, brother, ain't no harm...." He slowly begins peeling away the old bandages.

"No harm? No _harm?!_ " You screech at him. "You fucking _broke_ it, douchefuck! You splintered my bones into tiny fucking pieces and I'll be surprised if I can move my arms, _if_ they decide to heal! You're the reason I'm even in so much pain!" Angry tears fill your eyes. They make you even more frustrated.

You expect him to be pissed, to grab you by the throat and pin you back against the bed, maybe even snap your neck in his rage. What you don't expect is for him to sit back in the chair he sits in when he watches you. You don't expect him to stare down at the slime in the pie tin in his lap. You definitely don't expect the words that come out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry, bro."

His voice is quiet, filled with.... regret? No, that couldn't be.

"What?"

"I said I'm motherfuckin' sorry, okay?" You flinch- fuck, he's loud- and he slaps a hand over his mouth. "i gotta...." He places the pie in your lap and quickly leaves the room. You stare after him in confusion before clumsily attempting to rub the sopor into your broken arm.

After nearly spilling the sopor for the fourth time, you decide, fuck it, and just plunge your entire arm into the slime. The effects are immediate; you groan with relief. You lay there in silence before hearing a soft noise. You frown and concentrate on it.

You realize it's him. He is screaming. You cannot make out the words, but you are sure you hear your name several times, and maybe apologies mixed in? You aren't entirely sure.

Perhaps you're deluding yourself. The only other option....

Perhaps he cares.


	5. Chapter 5

Something in the sopor slime has to speed up the healing process, because after about a day or so of rest, you discover you can walk on your twisted ankle. Unfortunately, Gamzee hasn't come to feed you in quite some time. Your stomach growls at you and you growl back at it, not wanting to listen to your body complain about how starved and dehydrated you are. Actually, you suspect that if he brought you that shitty Faygo he so loves, you might just drink it.

"Might" is a very important term in that phrase.

You limp over to the door and try the handle. Locked, what else did you expect? You sigh quietly and look at the transportalizer in the corner of the room. Of course it's deactivated, Gamzee may be damaged in the thinkpan but he's not a total moron. You flop down on the useless transportalizer and cry out in frustration.

You are so fucking thirsty it isn't even funny

You search the room after a few moments of scraping together what remains of your willpower. Buried in the horn pile you find your torn, bloody sweater. You put it on, craving the comfort of the fabric. It's rough where the blood dried and stuck on the thread, but you honestly could not give a single flying fuck. You pull at the article of clothing, shuddering when you see the holes that your bones had torn in the arms.

You don't much care for that particular set of memories.

You curl up on the human recuperacoon. You call it that because you don't know what the actual name of it is. You yank the blanket over your head and, after a moment, decide to stuff your hand back into the tin of sopor. Your mind wanders and you find yourself curious as to how Gamzee got these human furnishings in his room. They were comfortable, oddly enough. You sigh again and drift into uneasy sleep, with nothing else to do.

You suspect you'll be catching up on your missed naptimes now.

\------

You are jerked from your sleep at the sound of a door being thrown open. You untangle yourself from the blanket and yawn wide, blearily staring in the direction of the door. Gamzee stands there, his bangs covering his eyes and an eerie, broken grin on his face. You gulp and wobble to your feet.

"Hey there, Gam...." You try cautiously.

He staggers forward, movements unsteady. You frown and instinctively step forward to steady him. You suppose that the pale feelings never quite diminished, even after all of this shit. You quickly come to the conclusion any pale feelings are purely yours when Gamzee grabs you by the collar of your beloved, ratty sweater and shoves you down. You miss the fluff of the bed and land harshly on the floor, the back of your head cracking against the cement. You groan as the world spins for a moment. By the time you right yourself, Gamzee is straddling your waist, pinning you down. The two of you are nose to nose and you can smell the sickeningly sweet Faygo on his breath.

"Hey there, Karbro~."

You flinch. This isn't Gamzee. This is that monster, that freak that masquerades as your idiot clownshit. You try not to tremble under his grasp, not sure how well you're doing with that. You're a bit distracted by the fact that he's raised a hand to show you a long, wickedly sharp knife. He runs his abnormally long highblood tongue along the blade and chuckles.

"Let's play a game."

You take a breath, steeling yourself. "I would really rather not, thanks, now let me up."

He doesn't like that answer, you fins out as he runs the flat of the blade along your skin. The cool metal makes you shudder, and you cry out when the blade digs into your hip.

"I think you'll enjoy it, brother."

You tremble, unable to hold it back this time. "Gamzee, this stopped being funny before it started."

"Oh, but it's motherfucking _riotous!_ " He laughs, no, _cackles_ above you and draws a slow line down your cheek with the blade. You can feel your disgusting mutant candy blood well up and pour down your face.

You get the feeling it's going to be a very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quietly cuts this chapter short due to writers block and extreme need to update I'm so sorry I didn't update earlier.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here, have a super-late update. There will be tons more where this came from!! I just have to finish typing them. Also, this will be a three-part series because I just got SO MANY IDEAS UGH. Anyway, thank you for the support!

You wake up to the sound of someone crying. Confused, you wonder who the hell’s making all that noise. It isn’t you, you’re sure- your sleep had been completely dreamless, the total unconsciousness of someone recovering from serious injuries. Everyone else you know is dead- no, wait that’s a lie. Gamzee’s still alive. But why would he be letting out these heart-wrenching sobs you hear?  
  
You slowly open your eyes and squint, trying to look around before your eyes have adjusted. Not that they have any light to get used to; your room is dark, with the only light coming through the door from the hall. Your gaze settles on a chair next to the human recuperacoon you lay on. Gamzee sits in it. You blearily realize that he must have set it up after you passed out and he really is the one in tears. You also think that he’s holding your hand, the one attached to your broken arm, but it’s hard to feel much through the bandages and sopor clinging on.  
His breath catches when he realizes you’ve awoken and are staring at him. “K-Karbro, I-”  
  
“Shut up.” You mumble, words slurring a little with sleep and the sopor soaking into most of your body. You think he poured about half a recuperacoon’s worth of the stuff on you, you’re so numb. You weakly raise your free hand and pap at his cheek, smearing the sticky green slime on his face. Oops. You know you should hate the clown. After all, he’s the one that’s done all this damage. He turns his face and nuzzles at the palm of your hand. You can’t hate him.  
  
“Gamzee, you need to try to calm your shit.” You inform him, tongue feeling like lead. You realize you’re ridiculously thirsty and your throat is dry, making it sort of difficult to form the words. You close your eyes and cover his mouth when he starts to talk. “No, shoosh, you massive assnugget. I’m going back to sleep and you’re going to quit crying and leave me in peace because I’m tired and you’re a douche.”  
  
He grabs your wrist just a little too tightly and pulls your hand from his face. Your breath goes shallow with pain. That’s right, your wrist is broken; the sopor had dulled it and made you forget. You force your eyes to open and try to tug your hand free before he ruins what healing your body has managed.  
  
“Best brother, have you been imbibin’ in the sopor I’ve been givin’ you?” He asks, voice low and dangerous and scary. “You seem awful tired and you’re speakin’ too freely for a punchline-blooded motherfucker. I’d be thinkin’ you is eatin’ the sopor.”  
  
You try to sit up, groan softly when your achy-breaky bits protest, and flop back down. “Okay, I haven’t even been awake to eat the shit, you idiot. This is how I always talk. You’re a moron if you think I would even consider eating the goddamn sopor. I’m tired, you keep hurting me, my body can barely recover, and seriously let me go or my wrist is going to get _worse!_ ” You may or may not screech that last bit. What? It hurts.  
  
Slowly, Gamzee places your hand back down, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Good. It’s a miracle I’m even lettin’ you have any at all. Shit’s poison. But that’s okay, I know you ain’t havin’ the knowledge that I do. As long as you don’t eat it, you should be okay. I don’t want my candyblood miracle to be in pain.” He ever-so-gently strokes your cheek, the one he had slashed open in his little knife game.  
  
“I wouldn’t be in pain if you’d quit going shithive maggots crazy on me.” You point out, then close your mouth fast enough that you hear your teeth click together. Your eyes are wide and you know you just fucked up. You brace yourself as well as you can for the shitstorm he’s probably going to release.  
  
To your surprise, rather than get pissed off, Gamzee sets his head in his hands. “I know, brother. I screwed up.” He sighs and drags his fingers through his matted hair. “Sometimes I just can’t keep the messiahs in check like I need to. You bleed such a pretty colour, you see. Like those sugar grubs that we used to munch on during your romcom marathons.” His smile seems nostalgic. “Everything was so nice and simple back then. I didn’t have no righteous motherfuckin’ purpose; the messiahs hadn’t come to guide me yet.” Abruptly, he straightens and looks at you, his sharp gaze softening when your eyes meet. “Do you think we could watch a movie? One that you like, with troll Will Smith. I’ll even alchemize those sugar grubs you pretend you hate but actually don't! It’ll be just like before.” He looks so hopeful, his expression so pleading, that you can’t keep a gentle smile from coming over your face.  
  
“Okay, but I have conditions.” Gamzee nods quickly, smiling wide. “Try to keep control. If you keep hurting me, I can’t heal right and I won't be able to stay awake for a movie. I hate just laying here. Also, remember to keep the Karkat fed and watered regularly. I’m thirsty and you’ve been neglecting your mutant for days now.”  
  
He looks delighted when he runs off to fetch some form of nourishment for you that you can’t help but feel all warm and fuzzy. It’s completely un-moirail for you to feel like that, but you don’t think it’ll hurt anything. It’s not like you’re red for him. You just think he’s a massive doofus and you seem to have a thing for doofuses. Sure, he’s a murderous idiot, but he’s your murderous idiot.  
  
You really should hate him for everything he’s done. You don’t. You can’t. Even when Gamzee’s in one of his rages and hurting you in any way he can, you know it’s not him. You’re sure of it. This sweetheart that’s eager to watch your favourite romcom with you- this the Gamzee you treasure. You don’t know how long you have him because of his demons; you know he’ll always come back to you, no matter what. Once you work through his anger, you both will be fine. You’re sure of it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I’ve got a headcanon that trolls heal faster than humans because of their culture. It’s hard to fight when you’re hurt. In addition, sopor has healing properties. Because Karkat’s sopor was of low quality, he never really noticed this, but highblood sopor is extremely high quality and therefore is stronger. The sleep effects and healing properties work more efficiently than lowblood sopor- that’s why Karkat was so tired last chapter and why he's healing quickly.)
> 
> (Also this is stomping all over my own personal headcanons so yeah.)
> 
> (If anyone finds and understands the reference I make in this chapter, they get a free cookie.)

Gamzee’s taken very good care of you this last week. He stops by fairly often with food and bottles of Faygo. You’ll admit that the fizzy drink really isn’t as bad as you thought it would be; in fact, you sort of like it. Especially the cream soda flavour. Or is it redpop that you like more? You can never remember. You had brought this up to Gamzee once and he laughed, telling you that choosing one favourite Faygo was like picking a favourite romcom- they’re all good.

In addition, the sopor he smears over your wounds is some of the most high-quality slime you’ve ever had the pleasure of experiencing. Having a moirail with highblood privilege and willing to share it is the best thing. Gamzee is the best thing.  
The clown had only lost control once over that week, and even then he dispelled his rage before he could do much more than slice up your hands. He had promised to flay you alive until no recognizable troll bits remained, so uou’re pretty glad he didn’t go much further. The cuts on your hands sting and itch like crazy when he puts the sopor on them, but it’s okay. He’s in control now.

Today is movie day. Yesterday, you told Gamzee that you were feeling well enough to watch a movie. In his excitement, he had nearly forgotten to finish bandaging your hands back up. You smile when you think about his delighted expression. He’s so precious.

Your wrist is mostly healed, though stiff. You idly roll your hand the way Gamzee had showed you to so that it remains flexible and functional while you wait. It hurts, but you trust Gamzee to know what’s best for you. He wouldn’t tell you to do something to hurt yourself. He just wants you to be in the best shape you can be in when you heal.

You look down at yourself and grimace, wondering if Gamzee plans on letting you bathe any time soon. You’re covered in your own dried blood, which flakes off of your skin whenever you move. You also really hope that smell isn’t coming from you. Ugh. Nasty.

Gamzee steps into the room and you smile, slowly sliding off the human recuperacoon. Your legs are numb due to disuse and you wobble as the feeling rushes back into them. Gamzee’s at your side in an instant, a blessedly solid mass for you to lean on. He holds you tight against his thin body even after you find your balance. You need to get him back on a regular eating schedule. You’re probably not much better.

“C’mon, chucklefucker. I wanna watch troll Will Smith achieve astounding quadrant success with a gorgeous troll.” You elbow him lightly and narrow your eyes when you realize he’s even more of a mess than you are. You’re fairly sure that those stains are blood from when he killed the rest of the team weeks ago. Rather than struggle free of his grasp, you nuzzle closer. You’ve learned that affection is definitely the way to go when you need to convince him to do things. “After the movie, we’re taking a very long vacation in the ablution trap. We are absolutely filthy.”

Gamzee pouts. He’s never liked it when you call ablution time on him. He starts walking, gently tugging you along through the halls. At least he’s going slowly. You don’t think you’d be able to keep up with his usual long stride in your current state. “But Karbro, I don’t-”

“No buts. We stink and all this blood is really itchy. And look at the state of your hair!" Gamzee's mane is a tangled, matted chirpbeast's nest full of blood and grease and _ew._ To be fair, your hair probably isn't much better. "You haven't even _tried_ to take care of it, have you? It's a disaster. We're fixing that hoofbeast-shit."

Gamzee honks out a laugh and kisses the top of your head. "You're getting your lususin' tone going, palebro. If it makes you feel better, we can get our ablution on tomorrow. I got some important shit to show you after the movie."

"Fine." You acquiesce with a grumble. "Tomorrow. I'm holding you to that, nookshit." The both of you walk along in a comfortable silence. Gamzee goes slowly so that your muscles can remember how the whole motion thing works. You aren't too sure where he's leading you until you step into what used to be the team's common area.

The husktop monitors are dark, splatters of blood left over from fights still staining a few of the keyboards. You snort softly when you see that the horn pile has been reconstructed, each horn carefully cleaned and polished. You still hate the honks that wheeze out when Gamzee plops down, but you can grudgingly admit that it is comfortable to sit on. You move to take your place next to him; he catches your arm and pulls you into his lap, instead. You mutter obscenities and make yourself comfortable (what? At least Gamzee won't honk every time you move. You hope.) while he pulls out your old crabtop and a large bag of mixed-flavour sugar grubs. Aw yiss.

Your clown sets up the movie and adjusts the legs of the crabtop so that you can both comfortably see the screen while cuddling. How thoughtful. On the other hand, free cuddles, hell motherfucking yes. You snatch up the bag of sugar grubs and try to open it, growling softly when your fingers repeatedly slip from the plastic packaging. Gamzee plucks it from your grasp and pulls it open with a quick flick of his wrists, the asshole. You stick your tongue out and reach for the candy, glaring darkly at him when he holds it just out of your reach. He plucks a sugar grub from the bag and holds it to your lips, patiently waiting for you to make the connection. _Oh._ He want to feed you like you're some wriggler? Not gonna happen.

You huff and cross your arms, instead glaring at the screen, upon which the opening scenes of the movie are playing. You feel Gamzee's claws prick your shoulder, a silent threat. "Oh, for fuck's sake." You mutter and take the sugar grub between your teeth, quietly sucking the sugar glaze off of the candy. The needles in your shoulder ease up and you sigh in relief.

"That's the only thing you're shoving in my mouth. _Ever._ " You snap at him, making him laugh and poke your nose.

"Of course, my best brother. Shoosh. Your movie's gettin' going."

\------

You blink away the film of happy tears over your eyes as the credits roll. Troll Will Smith once again amazes the fans with his perfect acting. You sigh, content, and nuzzle closer to your clown. When you glance up at him, he's watching you with a smile. He feeds you the last sugar grub- he had insisted on feeding them all to you, no matter what protests you threw out. You eventually gave in and found that it really isn't so bad. At least he's taking care of you, right? Right.

While you chew on your candy, he puts away the crabtop and pops the empty bag of candy into his sylladex. He nudges you to your feet and you carefully stretch out your limbs while he does some weird arch that makes his posture pole go snap-crackle-pop. Eurgh.

"Dude, that's nasty, can you not?" You shudder. "Fucking unnatural. Posture poles shouldn't make those noises."

"It's fine, brother. Don't get your worry on. I do it all the motherfucking time." If that's supposed to be some form of consolation, it doesn't help.

He takes your hand and laces your fingers together before tugging you out of the common area. You stumble a little, confused until you remember- that's right, he's going to show you something important. _It had better be worth delaying ablution time,_ you think to yourself as he leads you once more through the maze of hallways. You press closer to his side as the bloody messages painted on the walls grow more and more numerous the further you go. Gamzee releases your hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders. "Ain't no reason to be scared, my righteous palebrother. I promise. You're fine." He reassures you.

You nod and try not to look nervous for his sake. Soon enough, there is so much blood splattered everywhere that catching sight of the grey metal of the walls becomes a miracle in and of itself. Gamzee stops you in front of a door painted in all colours of the rainbow and grips your shoulders, forcing you to face him.

"Brother, I want you to know what you're gonna see. I saved them. All of our friends, I motherfucking saved them for you. They're waiting for you in here." He tells you, only serving to confuse you further. You had either watched them die or later seen their corpses; how could he have saved them?

You find your answer when the door is opened and you're guided into the room. The moment you set foot in, you turn to leave, but Gamzee's already closed the door and he's standing there and he makes you turn around and no no _no_ you don't want to see _this!_

All of them, your friends, your teammates, they're here. More accurately, their severed heads are here. You realize that high-pitched noise is your own whimpering and you force yourself to swallow it down. "Gamzee, why--"

"They talk to me, brother." He interrupts you. "We converse. It's like they ain't ever left. They're happier now." You give him a wide-eyed look and he droops. "I know you ain't understanding yet, but that's okay. You will. I promise you will and you'll be happy I saved them. You know where they are now. We can come visit them together again, when you're ready to get your mind open to their mirthful voices." Gamzee gives you a soft little smile and opens the door again. You scramble backwards until you're out of that room, away from that, and hopefully you can forget that it exists.

At least, that's what you were hoping, until Sollux's head winks at you.


End file.
